The loaded press beneath its labour groans,
And printers' devils shake their weary bones,
While Arnold's epics cram the creaking shelves,
And Kipling's ballads shine in hot-pressed twelves
'New' schools of twaddle in their turn arise,
Where jingling rhymsters grapple for the prize,
And for a time these psuedo-bards prevail;
Each public 'library' assists their sale,
And, hurling lawful genius from its throne,
Takes up some puny idol of its own,